


whalebone

by orphan_account



Series: in which there is a lot of fog and quite a few bad decisions are made [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ilia is tired. She's sad. She's alone. She's human.Weiss, however, is something entirely different.(In which bad puns are made, people wonder about death, and nobody is wearing AirPods despite the fact that it would make kissing much easier.)I've lost all interest in RWBY since I've written this, unfortunately. It won't be continued for a really long time, if at all. Sorry!





	whalebone

Ilia is aware that she is a sad excuse of a human being. This does not stop her from being a sad excuse of a human being.

It’s the same bonfire at the same spot on the beach with the same attendees as every year, every month, every day. Ilia isn’t even looking at the flare of the flame on the sand, at the people dancing around it, but she knows what everyone is doing. Ruby is trying to climb a redwood tree. Pyrrha is trying to stop Ruby from climbing a redwood tree. Yang is playing some sort of improv game against Nora, and Blake is watching, amused. Some of Ren’s friends from his old school are there, and they will be either dancing or conversing in a tight, exclusive knot. Penny is reading on a log, Velvet is losing a game of cards, and Coco is making s’mores.

Ilia, as usual, is sitting on the rocks and watching the waves crash below her, earbuds on, listening to music nobody else has heard of. In the morning her pants will be wet and stained with algae and she will regret becoming a stereotype for a night, but right now she does not have room for emotions other than jealousy. She could just go over to the fire and start making bets with Blake over the outcome of the improv game, or she could beat Velvet at War, or she could help Ruby on her endless quest to climb a redwood. She could belong.

Ilia is just so tired, though. Today everything just feels the same as yesterday and just _not worth it_ , and the only thing she’s wanted to do is stay in bed and listen to lots of meme music. Maybe make tea if she has enough energy, but isn’t that a waste of water? Blake comes over frequently and tries to get her to do something and she agrees because she loves them, and she sits on the outskirts of the something and wishes she had brought her computer.

A new song starts. Ilia doesn’t like it. She skips it.

Logically, she should be able to appreciate the beauty of the moonlight on the water and the fire on the sand and the redwoods towering above and the seals that are beneath the waves and _all those stars,_ but all Ilia feels is a weight on her chest and loneliness.

Over at the fire, Nora will have won the improv game. Yang will laugh and concede defeat and sit down and wrap her arm around Blake’s shoulders and maybe they’ll talk about inviting Ilia over, maybe they’ll just burn their marshmallows and mourn for only a split second. Someone will be playing music and improbably, Ren’s friends will dance to it, and this is surprising because the music will probably be the Mii theme or something along those lines. Pyrrha will convince Ruby to give up on the tree and Ruby will, instead, attempt to jump into a tidepool and sprain her ankle and everyone will feel bad for her and feed her marshmallows but the next day she will have healed.

Ilia feels someone behind her, and she takes off her earbuds, turns around. It’s probably just Coco offering her chocolate or Yang asking, pointlessly, if she’s okay.

But it’s not.

It’s someone new, someone unfamiliar, someone short with sharp cheekbones and pale hair illuminated by the moonlight, water dripping off her hands in luminous rivulets. “Can I help you?” Ilia says after a moment of silence, hating how her voice comes out, hating her word choice. Maybe she’s destined for a job as a secretary in some banal office.

The new person laughs. “Yes, actually. I was wondering if your friends mind party crashers? I’m new to town and it would be nice to meet people before the first day of school. Or, you know, I could talk to you. If you want.”

Where has this person come from? One moment Ilia is alone and then the next moment she is not. No footprints mar the surface of the beach, no boats roar across the surface of the ocean.

But to tell the truth, this is something new. And Ilia does not mind a distraction.

“Sure,” she says. “I’m Ilia. She/her. Who are you?”

The stranger sits down on the rocks. “I’m… call me White. She/her also.” It never hurts to ask for pronouns- Blake made her do it at first, but then Ilia began to understand why it was important on her own. “But that’s my name, not who I am.”

“How do you tell other people who you are if you don’t define that as telling people your name, then?” Ilia asks. She’s genuinely curious- and maybe the stranger can answer some of her questions about identity.

“Answer some completely irrelevant questions,” White says. “Your favorite flavor of ice cream, whether you’re a summer person or a winter person, et cetera. Maybe some more abstract ones- if you were a tree what you would be, your fatal flaw.” Up close, Ilia can see that her eyes are blue.

“You seem like a mint person. Possibly because you also look like a winter person.”

“Mint, yes, winter, no.” White smiles. “It’s not even really winter in California, is it? Just lots of rain.”

“And some years we don’t even get that, yeah,” Ilia agrees. “Would you like winter if it was snowy?”

“Probably,” White says. “Would you? You seem like a summer person to me.”

“I am,” Ilia replies, surprised. “No sunburns with the heat plus lots of fruit equals a good season for me.”

White hums her approval. “Fair. I’m more of a spring person, myself. The flowers are great, even though my nose disagrees.”

“Mood,” Ilia says, instantly regretting it. She sounds like she’s spent too much time online (although there’s probably no such thing) and she has. “My body nose to stay away from plants.” She regrets this also, because puns are a good way to ward off misery but they are not a good way to make new friends.

White laughs again, though. “Perhaps the plants are mad achoo.”

“Well, it’s not spring now, but I’ll sneeze what happens if I try to be nice to them.”

“Plants aren’t good at nice,” White proclaims with a fake note of haughtiness in her voice and suddenly she’s familiar. Ilia knows her, but from where?

“Neither am I,” Ilia says. “I guess that’s okay.”

“Nice is overrated anyway. It’s more useful to be funny.” White tilts her head, looks at Ilia. “You seem nice, though. And funny.”

Ilia is suddenly aware of their proximity. “So do you.”

“Debatable,” White says. She leans back, which makes Ilia both grateful and irritated. “Everyone is more than what they seem.”

“That’s the fun in life,” Ilia replies, her voice catching oddly on _fun._ “That is, when life is fun.”

“An occurrence far too rare,” White agrees. “Life is neither nice or funny.”

“Sadly.”

They pause in their conversation for a bit and listen to the sound of the waves. Ilia is suddenly aware that she hasn’t turned off her music, and faintly she detects ukulele playing through her earbuds.

Without asking, White picks one up and puts it in, which is oddly charming despite also being a bit rude. Ilia doesn’t know what’s playing and it would be very embarrassing for it to be something she doesn’t even like, so she takes the other. A song is just beginning.

_Starry eyes and galaxy minds, we’ll be dancing on the clouds tonight…_

It’s a good one. Ilia doesn’t quite mind the fact that it’s a love song either. It feels appropriate.

“This is a nice song,” White says, too loud. Ilia nods. Her earbuds are really old, so in order for them to both listen to the music at the same time, their faces have to be rather close together.

Ilia feels awake, alive, sane, and she likes it.

White starts to sing along.

_Oh, we are so much more than spacedust…_

The song ends. Ilia looks at White. White looks at Ilia.

After they’re done kissing, White smiles ruefully. “I’m sorry. I lied.”

“What did you lie about?” Ilia touches her lips. She wouldn’t be too surprised if this whole night is a dream, something she’s invented because she is so starved for feelings and human experiences that she has convinced herself she does not crave contact.

“My name, mostly.” White stands up and walks towards the ocean. Ilia stands up as well. “I’m Weiss. And I like you. But we’re not the same.”  
A tangle of worry knots itself in Ilia’s stomach. She knows that name. She knows this person. “Yeah,” she says. “It doesn’t seem like it.”  
Weiss is almost to the edge of the water. “I really am new to town. I really do want to make friends. It’s just hard to explain.” She lists her phone number- how does _that_ work?, tells Ilia she wants to talk sometime but really she has to go now. Ilia isn’t listening, not really. Maybe this is shock.

She walks into the waves and she says goodbye. Ilia doesn’t stop her.

 

The next day, Ilia opens her computer. Instead of opening up YouTube or anything of the sort, she searches _weiss schnee_. There are images, there are videos, but mostly there are a lot of articles. Ilia clicks on the first one. It’s dated a month or so ago.

 _Young Heiress to Schnee Dust Company Missing Near Ocean, Presumed Dead,_ the headline reads.  
Ilia can’t quite bear to read more, so she closes her computer.

The sunlight is streaming through her window- the window of the Belladonnas’ guest room. The curtains are blue and the backyard is untamed- Blake and their family really aren’t good at gardening.

There’s a photo of her parents on her desk. She’s been staying here for three years. She loves her adoptive family, she really does.

What would it be like to see the smile of a dead person one more time?  
Ilia picks up her phone and, after a moment of hesitation, starts a new message. Enters Weiss’s number.

After all, she’s curious. She needs to get out of bed, needs to make herself move and breathe despite the weight on her shoulders that she just can’t seem to get rid of. She needs a quest.

Ilia’s parents used to tell her that change is never easy. It’s not always good. But sometimes, it’s worth a million times more than stasis.

Ilia types out a message, hits send.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first work and I hope it's not too horrible- feel free to leave comments/messages/etc. I don't actually know how this site works, honestly, so apologies if anything turned out weirdly.  
> The song Ilia and Weiss listen to is an actual song- it can be found here and it's quite addictive- I can't stop listening to it.


End file.
